Trust Me, I'm Not Okay
by 11234
Summary: Human AU. Derek lost his home, his family, and his whole world. He doesn't want to talk about it. He's fine on his own, but being forced to go to group therapy changes everything, all because one doe eyed kid with a funny name punches a kid in the mouth.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not and will never own Teen Wolf. Unfortunately.**

**A/N: I want to thank **_**Jeannelovell**_** on Tumblr for this idea. I read it, and it was only supposed to be a prompt but I have so much more for it. So, I hope you all like it!**

**Summary: **_**Derek lost his home, his family, and his whole world. He doesn't want to talk about it. He's fine on his own, but being forced to go to group therapy changes everything, all because one doe eyed kid with a funny name punches a kid in the mouth.**_

**Chapter One**

_It was so warm. Too warm. Eyes open. There was smoke. There was so much smoke. The screaming was deafening, where were they? Running as fast as you can. Choking. Why would this happen? They were good people. The floor was so cold, that didn't make sense. Everything was so hot. Was this hell? No, good people didn't go to hell. This was his house. The walls were up in flames. The screaming died down...everything went black. _

_Then they tell you they're gone, and you're just supposed to live with that._

"So Derek, how was your weekend? Do anything exciting?" Dr. Deaton asked politely as he flipped to a clean page in his note pad and looked readily up at the younger man sprawled out on the red sofa. Derek, as usual, didn't respond and glared menacingly up at the same water stained portion of the ceiling as he always did during his sessions with Dr. Deaton. It wasn't that he didn't like the doctor. It was more that he was beyond pissed that he was forced to come here after saying a hundred times that he was fine, completely one hundred percent,_ fine._

"Your silence speaks for itself. I'm assuming you haven't spoken to anyone either?" Derek continued with his refusal to respond and instead turned his attention to his finger nails, finding them extremely fascinating. He was more than happy with the fact that he had developed selective hearing, because another half hour of Dr. Deaton droning on about needing to "open up" and share his "feelings" was unbearable without it. Why bother? There was nothing to share as far as he was concerned. Sure, the majority of his family burned in a fire, but he wasn't about to go talk to some totally stranger about it. A matter of fact he wasn't going to talk to anyone about it, because it was nobodies business.

"Group therapy it is then." Derek perked up slightly and turned his hard eyes on the psychiatrist. The older man offered him a small smirk and scribbled down something in his little yellow pad, "Mondays and Thursday. They'll get you to loosen up I'm sure. You're free to go." the doctor got up and slipped a paper in Derek's pocket with the time and place and patted the boy's shoulder firmly. Derek made a growling noise in the back of his throat and shot off the sofa and stormed from the room, slamming the door in the process. Dr. Deaton sighed to himself, that Derek was an open book, even without words.

In the lobby stood his uncle, his _only_ living relative. His uncle lost his family too. Why was it only Derek that had to come here, and be expected to spill his deepest darkest thoughts? It didn't seem fair. Well, Peter did cried a lot and talked even more about the accident when it happened, where Derek on the other hand, went mute. _Two years of silence_. Months and months with out uttering a word. He had nothing to say. When he does, he'll be sure to move his lips.

"How'd it go, Dee?" Peter asked collecting papers off his desk. Oh, and it probably helped that Peter was Dr. Deaton's secretary, free psychiatric help. Derek shrugged a reply and shoved the paper in Peter's hand, he read it over quickly and frowned, "You're going. Don't roll your eyes at me! I swear, you need to get this out Derek. It's not healthy, not one bit. I want to hear your lovely, smug, _bratty _voice again. I want you to _scream_ at me like you used to. _Debate_ me. Make fun of me._ Anything_ but this. So, you're going or I might just beat the hell out of you." Peter winked at his nephew and slung an arm around his shoulders.

"So what do you want for dinner? Pizza? Great! Me too!" Derek scowled at the older man and shrugged out of his grasp. Peter was not going to make this easy on him. The two traveled out of the city in Peter's black camaro, just one of the items Peter bought them with the money they got from their house and lives burning down. They lived out in the country still, only a mile away from where they used to live. They tried to live in town for about two months but peter didn't like being pitied by neighbors twenty-four seven. They must of hand a dozen casseroles at one point. It got suffocating. Hale's were not a family that ever took charity. They had pride. Even with only two of them left, they could survive on their own.

Derek hopped out of the car before it was even in park and stalked up to his bedroom where he laid face fist on the mattress and let out a frustrated groan. He didn't want to deal with Peter, or pizza, right now. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be able to close his eyes and relax without someone talking his ear off the get a response. He made up his mind right then, he, under **NO** circumstance was going to a stupid group therapy session. There was no way in Hell!

_Naturally_, that Monday, Derek was seated in a large circle, his shoulders brushing up against the two people sitting beside him. Peter had basically forced him to come. _Literally_. He had dragged him to the car, dragged him to the front entrance, dragged him through the halls, sat him in his seat, and left. It was quite the spectacle. So, needless to say there were a dozen eyes on him. A dozen prying, sad looking eyes.

Derek felt uncomfortable, and that was an understatement. Especially, since the boy next to him was staring at him with a small frown and wide, watery, honey colored doe eyes. It was…distracting. Derek shifted away from the other boy's stare and crossed his arms across his chest and glared at his boots. A man stood up and clapped his hands together with a wide cheesy grin and walked toward Derek.

"You must be Derek Hale. Correct? We've been expecting you!" the man paused anticipating a reply but Derek merely blinked and looked away, disinterested. He began to study the wooden floor and counting the tiny cracks in between the planks. This building was a dump. "Right..Okay, then…back to where we left off then I suppose…Where were we…Oh, right! Stiles, you're up bud, anything you want to say?" Derek tried his best to ignore the man but he jumped when he felt the boy with the doe eyes shift uncomfortably in his seat. He shifted his gaze and it landed on the broken expression of the one called apparently named 'Stiles'. What kind of name was that anyways.

"Not really." Stiles said playing with the zipper of his red hoodie. His eyes were glossy and threatened to spill over with the tears that were so close to the brim. Derek couldn't turn away from the boy, he watched him fidget with his clothing, and watched as those eyes darted wildly around the room. The kid had no focus. Derek trailed his gaze to Stiles' hands which were shaking violently, and nearly caught himself wanting to reach out and steady them in his own.

"Nothing? Well how was you week? Anything interesting happen? Any good news? Has your anxiety improved?" Stiles felt overwhelmed with the questions and leaned forward in his chair and held his head in his hands. He hated coming to these sessions. He hated having people stare at him. He didn't want to deal with his problems in front of a surprisingly judgmental crowd. Sure, they were all messed up, but some of the kids could be down right mean. One. In particular.

"GOD! It's the same thing every session with this kid! he just sits there on the verge of an anxiety attack the whole time! Why bother coming! No one feels bad for you Stilinski." A boy from across the circle hissed.

"Jackson." the counselor warned but the teen scoffed and rolled his eyes. The teen was larger than Stiles and had an athletic physique, an would be attractive if it wasn't for the nasty sneer he wore. Derek turned on Jackson and glared at the boy, wish that he would burst into flames, he didn't like crude people.

"Hey, leave him alone…He's having a rough time…have some compassion." a boy said from Derek's right.

"Shut up, Isaac. No one gives a rat's ass about you and your daddy issues either!" the counselor attempted to speak up but before anyone could react. Stiles was out of his seat and his fist connected with the boys chin from across the circle. There was gasps and hands on Stiles' wrist, but he just wanted to hit Jackson again, pound the living hell out of him if he could. The counselor tried desperately to pull Stiles away from the other teen, but the rage seemed to be giving him more strength, adrenaline worked wonders. Two more punches landed on Jackson's jaw, and it wasn't until a hand was around his waist and gently squeezing his wrist that he stopped. Stiles' eyes were blurry from the tears that were streaming in torrents down his cheeks, but he could make out the face of the new guy. _Derek._

"Stop…" Derek's voice was raspy and the sound of it surprised everyone, including himself, "…Outside…fresh air." Stiles was stunned. He heard about Derek. About his family. Who hadn't? So when Derek, the introverted mute, spoke. You obeyed. What else could he do. There was protest from the counselor to stay put until he could call Stiles' father, but neither of the teens listened. Instead, Derek led the boy outside and they sat on the front steps of the cruddy old community center.

They sat in silence for a moment, until Stiles' composure broke and he clung to Derek's leather jacket and cried. Derek made no attempt to remove the kid, who he realized was easily a few years younger than himself, from his jacket. Even though he was getting his soaked, and that wasn't particularly the best for the leather. Instead, Derek laid a firm hand on his back and rubbed it gently. It was odd to consol someone. He never had to consol Peter, because Peter had Dr. Deaton, and he never wanted to burden Derek with his feelings.

Stiles calmed down after a little while and pulled away, whipping his eyes and nose on his hoodie sleeve, "Dude...I'm sorry...that was inappropriate of me."

Derek stayed quiet but his throat tickled, he wanted to talk. He wanted to talk with someone…maybe this broken, doe eyed, mess of a kid was already helping him in ways Dr. Deaton couldn't. They were both in pain.

A squad car pulled up a few minutes later and Stiles hopped off the stairs and looked at Derek with a sad smile, "Thanks...you were a humongous help...I'll see you Thursday?" Derek eyed the sheriff, who he assumed as Stiles' father, warily before nodding once and earning a brilliant smile from the boy, "Cool." he chirped and hopped into the passenger seat. Stiles' personality seemed to do a one-eighty in a matter of seconds. Derek sighed when the squad car turned the corner and he laid his head in his hands. This was going to be interesting.

Not ten minutes later a furious Peter pulled up, "Really? You couldn't at least _try _and cooperate?" Derek shrugged and got into the car. Peter's raving was barely heard, Derek couldn't tear his mind away from the strange feeling he had in his chest. It was warm. He didn't like it.

**A/N: Uhm...So? Yes...No? Maybe...**

**I don't know.**

**Tell me what you think! **

_**Review! **_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, thanks so much guys for the reviews and favorites! I'm glad you guys like this, it's really flattering. Yet again I want to thank **_**Jeannelovell, **_**she gave me the idea, so I just want to give her the credit she deserves. So, thank you again. Review Review Review. XoXo**

**Chapter Two**

_It was cold outside that day, early December frost covered the window. He panicked. He had woken up late. Feet hit the warm carpet and his stomach flipped, he didn't say goodbye. He always said goodbye to her before she left. He always was awake before her. He had stayed up too late last night. _

_The phone rang. The news came. His knees hit the floor. He couldn't breathe. _

Stiles laid on his back with an arm drapped over his eyes. His father gave him hell the whole ride home for beating the hell out of Jackson. On any other day he would have been apologetic and agree that it was wrong, but Jackson Whittemore was a Class A asshole. He shifted to his side and stared out the window at the rain pounding the tree outside. Eh, this was too mellow dramatic for his tastes. He got off the bed and paced the room for a bit, before flopping back down in defeat. He hated rainy days.

He hated cold days. It made his anxiety skyrocket. Stiles rolled and shifted all over hs bed until he was laying on his stomach and had his head in his pillow. His eyes drooped and he yawned, maybe he could get some sleep, he really needed it. He closed his eyes and was elated when he felt himself spiralling into a restful sleep, but then his phone rang. He shot up from the pillow and glowered at the device, but his expression softened at the name on the screen. Isaac.

"Hey." Stiles answered rolling onto his back and staring at the light. Isaac didn't answer right away but he heard some banging in the background, "Isaac? Dude, you okay?" Isaac had more than just daddy issues, and Stiles was well aware. Everyone knew Mr. Lahey hit Isaac, and somehow he was let go of all the charges, saying, there was no proof. It was sickening. Isaac had no place to go and even though Stiles offered his home, he refused. Isaac had the kindest heart. It was his ultimate flaw, the kid cared far too much. He forgave much to easy. Even though he was hurt so much, he refused to believe his father was a bad man. He always said that he loved him, it was just he was stressed over his mother leaving them. Isaac held onto those tattered memories of love and care that his father used to show, it what kept him in that house.

"Sorry...My dad's in a mood..." Isaac paused and Stiles could almost picture his friend flinching at another crash.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked his voice tightening. Isaac didn't answer and it made his heart do flips and stomach fall into his stomach.

"I'm fine." He was lying of course. He was far from fine, but he wasn't calling Stiles to complain about his own home life, "But the question here is are you alright? I've never known you as a violent person Stiles. Where did that come from?" Stiles sighed. he didn't know how to answer that. he just snapped. Jackson had said some stupid stuff to him before but for some reason he couldn't hold himself back this time.

"I don't know...It just happened. Mental snap maybe." Stiles shrugged to himself, there wasn't much to say about it. Stiles jumped when he heard Mr. Lahey scream obscenities up the stairs, "Come over. Just get out of there, ok? I'll pick you up at the end of your street." He heard Isaac hiccup a sob and mutter in acceptance and the line went dead. Stiles quickly grabbed his keys and pulled on a thicker flannel to brace the rain storm awaiting him outside. Stiles was almost out the door when a hand caught his wrist and he was turned around to face a disapproving scowl.

"You're grounded. No jeep." the Sheriff said, feeling almost guilty for punishing his son for punching a boy who clearly deserved a good discipline. Stiles mouth hung open like a fish for a moment, but he quickly pulled himself together and he knew he just had to say one thing.

"Isaac." The Sheriff grunted and dropped the keys back into Stiles hand.

"There and right back." Stiles hugged his dad tightly and wrapped his arms around the larger man's waist. He never left anywhere without giving his father a hung.

"Thanks. I can be grounded after, okay? Love you, dad." Stiles said into his dad's t-shirt before pulling away and disappearing into the rain. Stiles drove faster than he should, he was reckless in vechicles, he ignored the dangers and tended to speed and take corners a tad too fast. A part of him was terrified and begged to slow down, but he pushed it aside and let himself go numb. He always wondered if it was quick? Painless. Luckily, he had yet to experience flipping his jeep, but he knew it was a matter of time. It was a shame really, Stiles was and arrived to a skidding halt at the stop sign. He saw a shaking mass huddled down at the base of the sign, and he shook his head and hopped out of the jeep, already soaked from the rain.

"Isaac? Dude, you alright? Are you hurt? Should I go beat the crap out of your Dad with my new found, spectacular right hook?" Stiles lifted Isaac off the ground holding him firmly in place until the taller boy steadied himself. Isaac looked up and smiled at Stiles, an ugly cut marring his cheek. Stiles felt rage bubbled in the pit of his stomach and his fist clenched, "Oh, my God. This is getting ridiculous. Come on, get your wet drowned looking self in the jeep." Isaac nodded silently and slid into his seat and shook the water out of his curly hair. Stiles got in with an annoyed look and rubbed his eyes, his breathing was heavy, he hated seeing his friend like this.

"I'm sorry..." Isaac whispered, "I know...I know I'm stupid for staying..." Stiles started the jeep and sat there for a second refusing to look over at Isaac.

"Don't be sorry, none of this is you fault. You're not stupid. You just worry the hell out of me, man. I wish you would just come and crash at my place. Swallow some your pride." Stiles started down the road, his eyes transfixed on the dark clouds rolling in. There was a storm coming for sure. Isaac shifted out of his soaked coat and tossed it in the back.

"It's hard. He's not always like this Stiles. You know that...He needs me, I can fix him. I need to fix him." His voice was distant and choked. Stiles bit his lip from saying something hurtful or offensive. He didn't think Isaac's father was broken at all, the man was just selfish and cruel. Who locks their child in an unplugged freezer, for God only knows how long? With that Stile's eyes drifted from the road to Isaacs hands that were laying nervously in his lap, his finger tips were red and nails chipped. He felt sick.

"STILES! WATCH OUT!" Stiles snapped out of his trance and whipped his head back to the road where two deer stood with frightened eyes. His head lights reflected in the animals' eyes and Stiles let out a shout and jerked his wheel to the left and swerved around the creatures. As Stiles tried to stay on the road, the Jeep violently snapped right and the next thing they knew the jeep was on its side. Stiles hit his head off the steering wheel and his vision blacked out. What seemed like seconds later he opened his eyes and saw flashing lights. There were sirens.

"I-Isaac?" Stiles muttered and tried to move his head but it hurt too much. He tried to yell out when he didn't see his friend in the passengers seat, all he could see was the clouds above him, angry and grey. He heard voices talking to him, but he couldn't concentrate on anything they were saying. He was soon removed from the Jeep, and he must have blacked out because it seemed like it happened too quickly. There was a hand clutching his forearm and his eyes traveled up to Isaac's hysterical face.

"You're okay. Breathe, Stiles, you need to breathe. You're not hurt bad, a few cuts and maybe a concussion. Breathe." Stiles didn't realize he was having a panic attack until he felt his throat closing and his lungs burning. His eyes darted frantically, when did he get in the hospital? A hand clutched his own and he visibly relaxed. The Sheriff grabbed his son's hand in both of his and squeezed it reassuringly.

"I'm here. Breathe." Stiles took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was okay. Well, at least he's have something new to talk about in group Thursday.

-pagebreak-

"Derek? Whats wrong?" Peter glanced at his nephew who was listening to who had stopped and was listening to the police scanner that they had in their kitchen. Derek ignored the older man and listened to the scanner closely.

"Sheriff, yeah, Berkshire Rd. We have him. The paramedics are on there way. He's okay. The Lahey kid managed to call us."

"I can't believe this. Stiles, he's not going to take this well."

"We're all here for you two. Ambulance is here. Just make your way to the hospital. We'll take care of him."

"Thank you..."

Peter understood immediately and felt a foreign jealousy spread through him like wild fire. His Derek hasn't said a word to him in two years, he has barely acknowledged his existence, and some kid he meets within the first ten minutes of group gets him to talk. What kind of cruel treatment was this? Derek grabbed his coat and keys from the table and head past Peter. Something in Peter snapped and he snatched Derek by the back of the collar and slammed him against the door.

Derek narrowed his eyes and stared up with a expecting look, "Stop ignoring me! I'm you're Uncle! I'm family! Why do you insist on making this hard on both of us Dee?" Derek throat felt scratchy, like there was a miniature cat in there trying to claw it's way out. Derek opened his mouth, but it snapped just, he had no obligation to say anything to Peter. He wasn't there when he needed him. He owes him nothing. Derek shoved the man away and stormed away, slamming the door in a very Derek-esque way.

He got into the Camaro and gripped the steering wheel too tightly for a minute before he started the ignition. What had gotten over him? This was pissing him off. Why was he getting worked over some kid he spent a total of a half hour with? There was a high pitch squeal as he mashed the gas pedal into the floor board, and took off out of the drive way. He hit the gas again and was thrown back into the seat. Now, look, he was being reckless because of him! He was a bad influence! He was perfectly content with his silence, and then out of nowhere the kid ruined it! He was causing problem already.

Fifteen minutes later Derek found himself outside the hospital, sitting in his car wondering why the hell he came. Stiles was nothing to him. It was none of his buissness. Besides, the officer over the scanner said he was fine so there was no reason to show up. Also there was the fact that he would be forced to ask where the kid's room was. Yeah, no way. He sat there for about an hour more until he saw three people exiting the building. He leaned back in his seat and watched as the Sheriff helped Stiles to the car. He looked okay, he only had a cut on his head, and what looked like a broken nose. His gaze shifted to the other kid who he recognized as Isaac, and frowned when there eyes met from across the parking lot.

Great, he was going to look like a stalker now. Isaac stared for a moment longer but dipped into the squad car and the three sped away. Well...Thursday was going to be awkward.

_**To be continued...**_

**A/N: I'm sorry. This was, for some reason, extremely difficult to write. I apologize if it's on the suckish side. Hope you guys ejoyed it though! **

**Reviews? Tell me what you think!**


End file.
